Achoo,
Sniff, sniff, cough, scratch.
sniff.
My body thinks it's under attack. All these tree's and grasses have been jizzing their pollen into the air and for some stupid reason my body is responding to it by making me feel shit.
I grew up in the countryside for fucks sake, surely it should understand that it's just a bit of pollen. I've tried antihistamines, nasal sprays, eye drops, exorcism...nothings working.
The plants are basically forcing their unwanted sperm in my face and there's nothing I can do. I feel like I'm their bitch.
Cough, scratch, sniff, curse, punch own head.
Friday 27 June 2008
Thursday 26 June 2008
Wimbleydone Tennish
I love tennis.
I should clarify. I love PLAYING tennis.
It's go just the right amount of hitting stuff without any of that running around. You get a rest every 10 seconds or so. Perfect.
Also it's got angles and shit. Being the son of an engineer, angles are in my genes. I can do angles.
I'd say that it was in my top 4 favourite sports, closely behind football, cricket and throwing bits of paper in a bin.
However, regarding watching a tennis match.....you would have to literally put drugs in my milk (ala BA Baracus in the A-team) to get me on that plane. I DON'T UNDERSTAND. WHERE'S THE ENJOYMENT!?
You see these middle class fools, waiting for days for the rain to stop, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic seat that's set them back £100 a day, regularly interrupted by Cliff Richard singing like some kind of discographic irritable bowel ("oh isn't it great of him cheering everyone up"-"NO, he's a shameless egotisist"), eating overpriced strawberries covered with clotted cow tit-sweat until finally the "covers are off" and we get 20 minutes of completely emotionless hitting back and forth of a ball.
There's no variation, no prolonged strategy, just mindless hitting back and forth, back and forth until one of them fucks up or hits something slightly better than the other. Then we start again.
Even worse...it's on my TV all the fucking time. I can understand it's popularity when McEnroe was playing...he got pissed off and shouted at posh people. It was funny but the "recent" stars..."TIGER" TIM HENMAN.
How exactly did Tim "Flannel" Henman deserve the name "Tiger". Did he turn up on centre court - his face covered in antelope blood, did he bite the heads off opponents and in between sets attempt to hump ballgirls....no.....he....just sometimes..........pumped his fist. Ooh, how very fucking "tigerish" of you. He wouldn't last a second in the jungle, he'd be buggered to Balmoral by Tigger (as in Winnie the Pooh) and Tony (as in Frosties).
Why do sportsmen and women have to be so bloody lobotomised! It's even starting to affect cricket, which has seemed to be immune and retained some characters (probably because...well....no one watches it).
Anyway, I digress. I think I was meant to be annoyed about tennis.
It's like Royal Ascot. It's pointless and it should be stopped.
GO ON MURRAY!
---------------------------------------------------------------
ps....my favorite joke this week -
---What time does Andy Murray go to bed
--- Tennish
badoom-pah!
no?....well fuck off then.
I should clarify. I love PLAYING tennis.
It's go just the right amount of hitting stuff without any of that running around. You get a rest every 10 seconds or so. Perfect.
Also it's got angles and shit. Being the son of an engineer, angles are in my genes. I can do angles.
I'd say that it was in my top 4 favourite sports, closely behind football, cricket and throwing bits of paper in a bin.
However, regarding watching a tennis match.....you would have to literally put drugs in my milk (ala BA Baracus in the A-team) to get me on that plane. I DON'T UNDERSTAND. WHERE'S THE ENJOYMENT!?
You see these middle class fools, waiting for days for the rain to stop, sitting on an uncomfortable plastic seat that's set them back £100 a day, regularly interrupted by Cliff Richard singing like some kind of discographic irritable bowel ("oh isn't it great of him cheering everyone up"-"NO, he's a shameless egotisist"), eating overpriced strawberries covered with clotted cow tit-sweat until finally the "covers are off" and we get 20 minutes of completely emotionless hitting back and forth of a ball.
There's no variation, no prolonged strategy, just mindless hitting back and forth, back and forth until one of them fucks up or hits something slightly better than the other. Then we start again.
Even worse...it's on my TV all the fucking time. I can understand it's popularity when McEnroe was playing...he got pissed off and shouted at posh people. It was funny but the "recent" stars..."TIGER" TIM HENMAN.
How exactly did Tim "Flannel" Henman deserve the name "Tiger". Did he turn up on centre court - his face covered in antelope blood, did he bite the heads off opponents and in between sets attempt to hump ballgirls....no.....he....just sometimes..........pumped his fist. Ooh, how very fucking "tigerish" of you. He wouldn't last a second in the jungle, he'd be buggered to Balmoral by Tigger (as in Winnie the Pooh) and Tony (as in Frosties).
Why do sportsmen and women have to be so bloody lobotomised! It's even starting to affect cricket, which has seemed to be immune and retained some characters (probably because...well....no one watches it).
Anyway, I digress. I think I was meant to be annoyed about tennis.
It's like Royal Ascot. It's pointless and it should be stopped.
GO ON MURRAY!
---------------------------------------------------------------
ps....my favorite joke this week -
---What time does Andy Murray go to bed
--- Tennish
badoom-pah!
no?....well fuck off then.
Thursday 19 June 2008
Meh, pah, piffle and guffle
I haven't written anything in weeks.
Maybe the fad of writing a blog has faded. Maybe I've started to subconsciously acknowledge the futility and pointlessness of it. Maybe I've actually been doing work at work.
Actually it's more to do with me just forgetting and doing other things. I'm like that. I can't actually do something for a prolonged period of time without being incredible bored or distracted. I guess that's why I've never quite achieved a 6 pack, I've never had long hair, I never finish books or computer games (I'm currently simultaneously the football manager of Barnet, the Roman ruler of two thirds of Europe and a relatively unsuccessful Black gangster in the streets of San Andreas), I never finished that film I was pour hundreds of hours and thousands of pounds into......It's a good job for my woman this habit doesn't seem to translate to my bedroom technique....I can imagine the disappointment of the aforementioned woman, after 5 minutes of sweaty fumbles and amateurish thrusting, with me stopping with a tired...."Oh I can't be bothered anymore".
In fact it's probably the fault of the aforementioned woman that I haven't written anything. She's buggered off to France for the last month and so I have had way too much time (and other stuff) on my hands. For some reason that seems to have actually reduced the amount I've achieved. I've not written or recorded anything for weeks. I keep getting home from work and just sitting, eating and going to bed. This must be what it's like for normal people. No rushing home, attempting to record podcasts and songs, write radio plays and films and blogs before giving up at 3am every night having achieved less than Greece at Euro2008.
Oh yeah it could be that ; Euro 2008.
Isn't Gary Lineker a twat....and Alan Shearer the dullest, most un-insightful man on television. The phrase gravy train comes to mind. Hansen's is OK I guess (although I can't take anything he says seriously after those Morrisons adverts) but none of them even compare to the criminally underused Martin O'Neil.
Anyway, this post isn't really a proper post. Sorry. It's just to try and reinfect myself with the writing bug. I asked a friend what I should write about, he suggested talking about either Jelly, Big Brother or my "feelings".....thank god I never listen to him, eh?
Maybe the fad of writing a blog has faded. Maybe I've started to subconsciously acknowledge the futility and pointlessness of it. Maybe I've actually been doing work at work.
Actually it's more to do with me just forgetting and doing other things. I'm like that. I can't actually do something for a prolonged period of time without being incredible bored or distracted. I guess that's why I've never quite achieved a 6 pack, I've never had long hair, I never finish books or computer games (I'm currently simultaneously the football manager of Barnet, the Roman ruler of two thirds of Europe and a relatively unsuccessful Black gangster in the streets of San Andreas), I never finished that film I was pour hundreds of hours and thousands of pounds into......It's a good job for my woman this habit doesn't seem to translate to my bedroom technique....I can imagine the disappointment of the aforementioned woman, after 5 minutes of sweaty fumbles and amateurish thrusting, with me stopping with a tired...."Oh I can't be bothered anymore".
In fact it's probably the fault of the aforementioned woman that I haven't written anything. She's buggered off to France for the last month and so I have had way too much time (and other stuff) on my hands. For some reason that seems to have actually reduced the amount I've achieved. I've not written or recorded anything for weeks. I keep getting home from work and just sitting, eating and going to bed. This must be what it's like for normal people. No rushing home, attempting to record podcasts and songs, write radio plays and films and blogs before giving up at 3am every night having achieved less than Greece at Euro2008.
Oh yeah it could be that ; Euro 2008.
Isn't Gary Lineker a twat....and Alan Shearer the dullest, most un-insightful man on television. The phrase gravy train comes to mind. Hansen's is OK I guess (although I can't take anything he says seriously after those Morrisons adverts) but none of them even compare to the criminally underused Martin O'Neil.
Anyway, this post isn't really a proper post. Sorry. It's just to try and reinfect myself with the writing bug. I asked a friend what I should write about, he suggested talking about either Jelly, Big Brother or my "feelings".....thank god I never listen to him, eh?
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